Bus Writing: “Actually, it’s a loveseat”

Originally scrawled in unreadable prose while riding the 253 westward…

The fact that she could most likely smell me before she saw me was probably little solace to ******* when she woke up this morning. It was, however, of some comfort to me. To describe her as bashful would be an outright lie, but there is still a noticeable difference between seeing someone nearly naked on stage and surprising the hell out of them as they step out of the shower. So her knowing I was in the apartment somewhere helped the morning along without any improper run-ins.

The call went out shortly after 2am this morning. I needed a couch. A text reply told me I had 15 minutes to arrive. I leapt from my perch and hailed a cab. I buzzed the apartment and a familiar voice purred, “Hellooooo?” over the intercom. She met me in the hallway with the loving eyes and faint smile of a mother who opens the door to a child who has walked home in the rain.

“Anyone order a wayward drunk?” I asked as she ushered me into the apartment.

It appeared as though I had interrupted her pre-slumber stretching routine. It’s no surprise. A lot of my relationship with **** seems to be based on me interrupting something. This, however, is not difficult to do as she is always doing something.

The stretching is distracting.

It’s not any base form of lust that distracted me; I could draw her soft form from memory. It’s the stretching itself. She casually carried on polite conversation as she bent herself in ways that made every muscle in my body ache at the sight of it. She suggested I try yoga, as she always does. I told her I’d think about it, as I always do.

As I drifted off to sleep, I caught myself snoring and thought, “What a lousy repayment for her kindness.”

**** made me tea in the morning and ****** offered up some herbal meds that are supposed to be good for liver function. I strapped on my Converse, gave **** a warm hug, and thanked her for the use of her couch.

“Actually, it’s a loveseat. It’s not big enough to be a couch.”

Walking down the front steps of their building, I slid my Persols on to hide away from the morning sun and thought to myself, “It’s a loveseat because of the size of your heart, my dear.”

I hit the streets in search of coffee and a new day’s adventure.


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